The rising sun and swaying flowers
Matter not in the vineyard
Of lost dreams and defeated glories
The decaying petals of pain curl on the cobblestone paths
And the the grapevines of regret grip the brick walls of shame
The sun sets
And the moon comes to life
Bringing with it the minstrels of the night
who sing naught,
But the harmonies of tragedy
Flowers bloom here, yet they crumble
at the slightest touch
Their lingering fragrance,
brings the dead back to life
